


this is totally not a first date

by al_coholica



Category: Metallica
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Beaches, Cute, Early 80s, First Dates, First Kiss, I know i do Jars all the time, Ight so, M/M, and there is barely any stories with this ship, but this ship is valid, in this house we love cliff burton, they also makeout, very cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_coholica/pseuds/al_coholica
Summary: He really shouldn’t be nervous, it wasn’t like this was a date or anything like that.
Relationships: Cliff Burton/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	this is totally not a first date

**Author's Note:**

> Ight bitches, this motherfucker took so damn long (like two days maybe) to write so uhhh, just sit back and enjoy it. I wanted to contribute something else to the Metallica fandom so ye. ALSO this may be shit but what the fuck i tried so yehfekjfe

He really shouldn’t be nervous, it wasn’t like this was a date or anything like that. Lars twirled a wet strand of hair with his finger, like a girl would, and bit his bottom lip. It wasn’t a date, _was it?_

No, it was just hanging out with his bassist, hanging out in a totally cool, non-date way. If they were hanging out, why did Lars bother with showering? He shook his head, Cliff was American, and it was American to bathe everyday. But _he_ wasn’t American, why did he care?

The Dane let out an exasperated sigh, giving himself an over-dramatic eye roll as he ran his comb down his freshly washed hair. He could smell the shampoo, and for a brief second, he wondered if he rinsed his hair thoroughly. But as he ran his hand through the dark locks, he felt no soap suds.

_Nope, you rinsed it out alright, you’re just not used to it smelling like something other than grease and B.O._

He sighed again, tossing his comb down onto his bed and turning to the small, smudged mirror hanging on the wall. He smoothed his hands down his shirt, wondering if his old Anthrax tee was appropriate for this. Was this even his shirt? Was it James’? He didn’t know, everybody wore everyone's shirts in this household.

He then looked down to check his shorts. They were this nice pair of jean shorts (jorts) that he barely wore, but since Cliff told him that he needed to be comfortable for this da- hangout session, he decided to ditch his skinny jeans. He thought about wearing his shiny spandex, but they got uncomfortable after a while, and it would totally not be cool to wear them while hanging out with the bassist. 

He frowned. Why would a pair of shorts that showed ninety-eight percent of his short legs be more cool than spandex? 

The Dane gave himself another eye roll, grunting. 

“Stop fuckin’ around, Ulrich…” He warned, sitting on the bed and pulling on his long socks. Once he slipped his shoes on, he pushed the socks down so they bunched up at his ankles. Long socks pulled up all the way made him look like a catholic schoolgirl, and that was so un-cool.

He stood and grabbed at his discarded towel, bringing it to his head. He ruffled his wet hair with it, hoping that it would quicken the drying process. When he was satisfied with the half-assed dry hair, he threw the towel on the floor and yanked open his door. 

“Oomph!”

He pulled his face out of James’ chest, who stood in his way, staring down at him, giving him a disinterested glare. This fucker had the audacity to glare even though it was his fault Lars ran into him. The singer bit another bite off his cold pizza, sauce staining the edges of his mouth. 

“Cliff’s here.” He informed the Dane, bored. He then looked Lars head-to-toe, his brows furrowed. “You look cute.”

Lars rolled his big green eyes, shoving past James with a snarl. 

“Can it, Hetfield.”

“Remember what I told you,” the singer continued, trailing after the small drummer, “Be home by ten, don’t talk too loud, and for goodness sakes, honey, if you’re going to have sex at least do it safely.” He stated in a mock worried-mother tone, causing Dave to stir on the couch. He was too shitfaced to wake up, thank God, if he did that would mean double the teasing. 

Lars stopped short at the door. Slowly, he turned around, cheeks pink with embarrassment and anger. 

“ _Shut up, James.”_ He hissed between gritted teeth. “This **_isn’t_ **a fuckin’ date.” 

“I don’t know…” James shrugged, giving a teasing grin, “I mean, judging at how fancy our dear friend Clifford is dressed up, I’d say this _is_ a date.” 

Lars’ red cheeks instantly paled, and he spun around to look out the small window in the door. He saw Cliff, stubbing the remnants of his cigarette out on the concrete, and holy Moses, that did _not_ look like Cliff at all.

His usual Misfits shirt and jean jacket was gone, replaced by a dark red long sleeve shirt. His hair was neatly brushed out, and his skull rings were gone. The only thing Lars could identify him by was his classic bell bottoms, which looked to have been _washed._ The Dane heard James snigger behind him, and he whirled around to face him. 

“You keep your big trap shut, dickwad. This is not a fuckin’ date!” He snapped before slipping out the door, angrily slamming it behind him. He heard Dave yell an intoxicated ‘what the fuck’ before he hurried down the pathway, catching Cliff off guard. 

“Hey!” He said, rather too cheerfully for that matter. This wasn’t a date, yet he worried that he didn’t look good. Cliff, he certainly did, but oh God, what the fuck, that was _besides_ the point. As he got closer, he could catch a whiff of cologne. Oh shit, this probably, most likely was in fact, a date. And here he was looking like shit. 

Cliff didn’t seem to mind though, he just gave Lars a sweet smile, albeit, a jittery one. He rubbed his skinny hands on the sides of his thighs, as if his palms were sweaty. There was no way… the bassist couldn’t possibly be nervous!

“Hey…” The older man murmured, his kind brown eyes slowly taking in Lars’ outfit. “You took my advice.” He sounded pleased, almost surprised that the Dane listened to him. The short drummer chewed his bottom lip, fighting the blush creeping up his cheeks. The way those eyes just _studied_ him…

Um, no, it most certainly did not get his heart pumping faster, nope, no way. This was just a chance to hang, to get to know each other better. But why did Cliff dress up and not invite the rest of the guys oh my God this was a actual fucking date what the fuck- 

"You uh," he blanked, a move totally uncharacteristic for him. He was Lars Ulrich, the smooth-talking Danish twat and here he was fucking up his goddamn sentence, "You look nice. It's kinda surprising to see you without your jean jacket." He kicked himself mentally for that dumb excuse for a complement, so he added: "I like it, I mean, you look good in anything, but now you look really nice, jacket or no jacket you look good and I'm gonna stop talking now."

Cliff chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. He flicked his eyes from Lars' face to his very exposed legs for a brief second before giving a soft smile. 

"You look nice too... like, _really_ nice." His voice shook, which was so out of character for his chill demeanor that Lars thought for a brief second that this actually wasn't Cliff, but an android trying just a little too hard to be human.

The Dane shuffled on his feet for a few seconds before putting his arms behind his back, awkwardly standing there like an idiot. The thick, nervous atmosphere was not something he was used to, and judging by the way Cliff was holding himself, it didn't seem like the bassist was used to it either.

"Well... where are we going?" He asked, hoping that the question would ease the tension. Cliff blinked up at him, his face blank.

"What? OH! Right. Well, it's kind of a surprise..." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I decided that the big, bad, always-planning-everything-Lars Ulrich deserved a little surprise." The older man paused, giving a small shrug. "You work so hard for us to get gigs and shit, I just thought you'd like something that was out of your hands for a change."

Annnnd there went Lars' heart, right out of his chest, plopping right down onto the curb, making a squishy sound as it did. First, Cliff rolls up in here looking fine as hell, then he's nervous for some reason, and now he's being appreciative. It was too much to handle, and the Dane let a goofy grin spread across his blushing face. 

"Well, I've always liked surprises..." 

Cliff let his own goofy smile break out. “Good." He murmured before taking hold of Lars' hand and pulling him towards his old beat up pick up that was most likely his dads. "My poor ol' car is at the shop, the fucking breaks went out in it." He informed after taking note of the confusion on the Danes face. Or was it giddiness, or nervousness? The bassist didn't know, he just wanted to spend the evening with Lars, not caring how they got there.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't like the small drummer. Because, oh boy, he definitely did. Would he call it a crush? Hell yes he would. Lars was so perfectly tiny, with his short little frame and skinny figure, like a perfect little house wife you'd see in those magazines from the 50's. His long flowing hair, rolling like waves of the ocean, so beautifully brown like sunshine shimmering through a bottle of whiskey... his big green eyes, like the old grass fields Cliff used to play in growing up, glistening like stars in the dark sky...

Yeah, you could say Cliff was smitten. _Really_ smitten, some might even say...

He opened the door for the small Dane, like any gentleman would, and secretly watched the way Lars' legs moved in those shorts. 

...In love. Cliff paled, was he in love with Lars? Well, every time he thought about the younger man, his heart did a triple backflip in his chest, and every time he saw him, he felt all the air leave the room, and the only thing taking up his senses was Lars. 

Maybe he was in love. 

Lars watched Cliff walk around the front of the truck, his heart currently pounding in his small chest. This was happening... this was fucking happening! He was going on a date with his bassist and he was sitting in the truck oh my god holy shit-

"I really hope I don't conceive a child in here..." Lars whispered to himself, taking note that his shorts had ridden up his thighs once he sat down. He hastily pulled them down, not fast enough though, since Cliff had sat down right when he was getting his left thigh somewhat covered. The older man watched him silently for a few seconds before turning away and starting the truck, leaving Lars' blushing. 

The drive, the adventure, started rather quietly, save for the fact there was soft music flowing from the radio. It was the old stuff Cliff liked, the old hippy type music that Lars only heard when he was hanging at the older man's house with the rest of the guys. He could see themselves now, sitting around, first listening to _Motörhead_ , then listening to _Yes_. It was a genuine music experience that Lars enjoyed. 

He gave a shuddering sigh as he remembered Cliff just... staring at him the whole time. He was on the floor, shifting through Zeppelin and ZZ Top records, and he looked up and boom! A pair of brown eyes were staring at him. He paid no mind to it though, he'd stare at someone if they were looking through his ginormous record collection. But for the rest of the night, those brown eyes were on him, just staring, _studying..._

He blankly stared out the window, watching the San Francisco life pass him by. Buildings and cars and people just seemed so different now, so weird and just.... He frowned, his bottom lip becoming trapped under his teeth. Nothing was the same now, everything had a different look to it. It was seeing the world for the first time.

"Okay..." Cliff began, pulling a long black blindfold from his pocket, "Now is the time for you to cover those pretty eyes of yours." He said, handing the blindfold to Lars, who grinned. 

"Kinky..." he murmured, quickly embarrassing himself. _Way to go, dumbass._ Cliff, however, gave a chuckle. _Oh, oh okay, you didn't fuck up! Good job, Ulrich!_

His ride in the darkness was a rather twisty one, with the truck taking sharp left and right turns, it almost felt like he was on a roller coaster... at _night_. He only sounds he could hear was the soft crooning of the radio, the flick of a lighter, and the asphalt under the tires. He smelt the thick smoke coming from Cliff cigarette, and... what was that? He deeply inhaled again, smelling salt.

Were they...? 

"Alright, we're here!" Cliff cheered, shutting off the engine. Lars sighed and reached for the blindfold, only to be stopped. "Don't. Not yet, it's still a surprise."

"Ughh..." Lars moaned, slapping his hands down into his lap, "Jesus, when you plan a surprise you sure go the extra mile doncha?" 

"Only the best for the best, Larsy."

 _Larsy._ The Dane felt his heart flutter in his chest at the nickname. Oh boy, that got his face hot, and his hands self-consciously tried to pull down his shorts again. His mind was tumbling around in his skull, so much so that when Cliff opened his door, he about fell out. 

"Whoa, hold it now!" The older man laughed, catching the Dane. "I didn't know you were _this_ excited."

There was a pause, and even though his vision was bathed in darkness, Lars could practically see Cliff look down at him in worry. Those warm, talented hands held onto his arms, causing goosebumps to spread all up and down his body. The silence lingered for too long, save for their breaths mingling together, and the soft crashing of waves against the shore. 

Lars knew it, they were at the beach. Totally not a normal place for friends to hangout at, especially in the evening, where there was no one else walking along the white sand or playing in the blue waves. They were alone… together… they were completely alone together. 

“You okay?” The older man asked, putting his hands on the sides of Lars’ head. The question dripped with genuine worry, and it sliced right through the Danes chest into his heart. Of course he was okay, he was _more_ than okay, but the way his breath was coming out like someone going through a serious case of shock, he could see why Cliff would think otherwise. 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he then gave a reassuring smile, pulling Cliff’s hand from his head and giving a squeeze, “Now show me my surprise.”

A laugh blew against his face, leaving Lars wishing he could see that glorious smile. But no, he had to keep the blindfold on, for Cliff, he had to stay true to his word to Cliff. For Cliff, anything for Cliff. 

He felt the older man's presence leave him, sending him into a dark lonely abyss. In this abyss, it was more peaceful than anything. The darkness and crash of the waves made him imagine he was in the deep blue sea, holding his breath. The goosebumps were not because of Cliff, but because of the cold water swallowing him whole, pulling him down down down until his feet hit the bottom of the ocean. 

Lars let out a slow breath through his nose, feeling more and more at ease as another second ticked by. This, to him, was no longer a nerve-wracking date, this was an evening with his favorite bassist. A quiet, very intimate evening with his friend who he may or may not want to kiss. Oh well, no need to pick at it, no need to go into the fact that he was currently trying to figure out the thundering in his chest and oh fuck this was gonna end bad if he didn't get his shit together-

"Okay..." Cliff murmured to him, taking his lone hand in his, "I'm gonna be your trusty guide..." A pause. A breath. A thought. "That is, if you trust me?" 

Lars smiled. "Of course." 

His hand was squeezed, he could sense the smile. "Good." 

The short walk was sure to be a tricky one. The sand collapsed under the Danes shoes, there were rocks protruding from the grown, old fishing nets and seaweed was scattered all around like a freshly fought battlefield. But he trusted Cliff, and while they trailed down towards the waves, he never once fell or tripped on all the obstacles, the older man just quietly said: 'watch out, big fuckin' rock,' or 'there's some seaweed there, you might not wanna trip on that...'

"Okay... okay... annnd stop!" The older man ordered, his voice mixing beautifully with the waves. "Hang on just one sec, I gotta do something then you can take that blindfold off." 

"Jesus fuck, Cliff, you might as well just go ahead and gouge my eyes out."

"You keep talking like that and I will, you Danish twat." 

Lars let out a giggle, feeling more and more comfortable with the situation at hand. They were joking, which was good, joking was A+, 100% good. Now all he needed to do was tell his heart that, which had already decided to make his stomach fucking dance as well. He heard Cliff rustle around with a few things, his rushed movements apparent as he haphazardly threw sand all around. Not that the Dane minded...

The sides of the blindfold were pulled up, and slowly, green was met with brown. Lars blinked, his pupils blowing in size at the dark sky. Cliff stood in front of him, very, _very_ close, so close that the drummer could smell the remnants of marijuana and cologne, and a little something else, something that he couldn't explain. Just... the smell of Cliff. There was nothing else like it, it was strong and warm and tender, so close that it choked him. 

"Hi..." He sighed out, causing the taller man to flash a warm smile. He watched those eyes, those magnificent pools of whiskey, trail down his face, resting on his lips which were probably chapped. He darted his tongue across them, his dry mouth making his throat clench. "We're at the beach." 

Cliff laughed, nodding. "Yep, we are at the beach." He then stepped aside, showing a large blanket spread out across the white sand. "I was gonna get food, but I figured that it would be much easier to eat at a table rather than on the ground. So... be thinking about what you want later." He plopped into the blanket, leaning back on his elbows, ankles laced together. 

Lars felt his stomach quiver, Cliff was gonna buy him _food._ He fought against the blush as he sat down, criss-cross, on the other side of the blanket, keeping a good fourteen inch distance between them. And yes, he was counting those inches very carefully. He sighed heavily as a new round of waves crashed against the shore, the sight heavenly with the darkening sky. It was cloudy, no sign of stars, but the fog out along the horizon was much more calming than a bunch of cliche balls of gas in the sky. 

"Oh man..." Cliff sighed, shifting his weight to one elbow, so that he could look at the small Dan sitting a good distance away, something that just _wouldn't_ do, "I used to do this all the time. Go out on the beach at night, just being at peace... it's amazing how one place can make you feel in heaven." His voice was smooth and velvety, and Lars shivered, his eyes fluttering closed. Here he was, looking like a complete fool all because Cliff had the audacity to sound like _that._

"Yep." He opened his eyes and looked to a discarded rowboat out in the distance. "It's pretty cool." 

A pause. The waves seemed to be more ferocious now, smashing against the sand with such force that chunks of it flew into the dark sky. The ground next to him collapsed at a new-coming weight, hot breath hit against his shoulder and neck. _Oh, Jesus fuck I'm gonna melt into this fucking sand. Holy fucking shit, oh my God, oh my God, oh my fuck-_

"Do you know why I brought you out here?" That voice asked him quietly. He shook his head, keeping his eyes on that stupid rowboat. The voice continued, a hand pushing his hair out of the way of his neck. "I brought you out here because... well, people can also make you feel in heaven. It's those special type of people though, ones you can barely find. Diamonds in the rough you might say."

"And you brought me out here for me to meet a diamond in the rough?" Lars asked meekly, fighting the lightning sensations running up and down his spine as Cliff caressed his jaw with his thumb. 

"Not exactly." There was a smile in his tone, and he tucked those long brown locks behind the Danes ear. "I mean, it's kinda hard to meet yourself, don't you think?" 

Lars turned to meet Cliff, nose-to-nose, breaths mingling. He swallowed down his pride, his stupid denials of this not being a date, because this _is not what friends do when hanging out_. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided to can it when the older man leaned in closer. His gasp was eaten by Cliff's soft lips against his, moving gently, slowly. He brought a hand up to the older man's face, caressing it. 

"You're my diamond," Cliff murmured against his lips, weaving his long fingers into his hair, "You're my heaven, you've been ever since I saw you at the Whiskey A Go-Go, ever since you came to talk to me," He sighed, peppering kisses along Lars' jawline, "I swear I saw you in that crowd and the _sun_ came up." 

The Dane was too frazzled to even comprehend anything anymore, all he knew is that he needed _more._ They both fell back onto the blanket, Cliff on top, his tiny writhing body on the bottom. He purred as the taller man took his mouth in his, his arms wrapped around those slim shoulders, his fingers tangled into his shirt. He let out a shudder as Cliff then moved from his mouth to his neck, kissing and suck and biting and _oh fuck this was happening._

"Vær venlig...tag mig..." He gasped, causing Cliff to groan above him.

"Fuck... I love it when you talk like that... Say something else, anything! I don't care, just _speak."_

"Du er min sol og mine stjerner og min himmel, jeg elsker dig. Jeg elsker dig så meget..." Something cold slipped in between his legs, pooling under him and around his hips. He furrowed his brows, ignoring those hot lips on his earlobe to figure out what the hell that was. It couldn't be Cliff's hands, one was tangled in his hair, and the other was up under his shirt. Only when the taller man wrenched himself away, he knew what happened. 

" _SHIT!_ High tide! High tide!" He yelled, causing Lars to squeal a laugh and roll off the now soaked blanket. The water came splashing down right where they were, soiling any evidence they were just making out in the sand. Cliff grabbed the drenched piece of cloth, grimacing at the debris of wet sand on it, and all Lars could do was laugh. His once flushed face out of slight arousal now was beet red as he wheezed, holding at his stomach as he continued to cackle. Cliff merely shook his head at him, tossing the blanket towards his direction. 

"Ho-holy shit! Oh my God that was good. Oh shit you should've seen yourself! 'High tide! High tide!'" The Dane teased, ignoring the fact that not only was the blanket dripping wet, so was he. His t-shirt clung to him, his shorts heavy and trickling water down his glistening legs. Cliff chuckled along too, pulling back his own wet shirt from his slim torso. 

"Laugh it up, Ulrich... go on laugh it up..." He muttered, his eyes sparkling as he watched Lars, his heart swelling at the sight, "But I bet you find this funny!" He pounced at the younger man, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him up off the ground. Lars cried out as he was thrown over Cliff's shoulder, his wet shirt riding up his waist. 

"Let me go you brute!" He shouted, waving his arms, trying not to piss himself laughing. The older bassist ignored his protest and stomped up the beach, keeping a tight arm wrapped around the drummers hips. He watched those legs just kick and kick, the socks and shoes soiled, the water droplets flying everywhere. It was mesmerizing, really, to watch those powerful legs sway up and down in the blueish fog that swallowed them whole. 

Once back to the truck, only then was Lars set down. He spun, red-faced, out of breath, to face his capture, only to be gently shoved against the vehicle. He gasped as Cliff captured his lips once more, igniting that fire in him that was raging hot just a few moments ago. He threaded his fingers through the taller man's semi-soaked hair, pulling tenderly at the strands as their lips slid together at a perfect rhythm. It reminded him of gigs, their moments on the stage where everyone worked as one. 

Cliff was the first to pull away, ending the kiss with a light smack. He smiled down at the soaked Dane, his eyes lidded. "You are _drenched_."

"Thanks for telling me, dick." 

"Eh, but that's okay though," The bassist lightly kissed Lars once more, his smile still there, "You're breathtaking no matter your state of dryness." 

The Dane bit his bottom lip, another round of blush kissing his cheeks once again. As Cliff rounded the truck, he couldn't help but feel lightheaded, and winded, and absolutely love-struck. Maybe, yeah, okay, this wasn't the way he figured the date would go so far, and in all honesty, he didn't think Cliff figured it either. But it was... it was perfect, everything, down to the blindfold to the sea, it was perfect. 

Once seated inside the truck, soaking wet, sand in his washed hair, smelling the smoke from a freshly lit cigarette, Lars could easily pinpoint that this was definitely the best, totally-not-first-date ever. 


End file.
